


Curiosity

by sobrecogimiento



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-23
Updated: 2011-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-18 14:16:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sobrecogimiento/pseuds/sobrecogimiento
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coda to 5.17, 99 Problems. Sam/Cas. Just kissing. They do not pass go. They do not collect $200.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Curiosity

**Author's Note:**

> Perhaps some Sam/Dean snuck in there as an underlying theme, but Dean's like an integral part of Sam, thus him being a voice in Sam's head. It's probably mutual, but I'll have to ask Dean some other time.

Drunk people, Sam knows how to handle. It’s a long and boring history of Dad’s habit of drinking himself into a coma after a hunt gone bad, Dean stumbling home at ungodly hours of the morning, words and giggles melting together into a new language, in the two years between his twenty-first birthday and Stanford, and, of course, Stanford itself, most of undergrad spent in a run-down apartment building that should have been condemned. He’s no stranger to shrieks of every variety waking him at three in the morning, idiot frat boys pissing on his stoop and passing out in the walkways in puddles of their own drool. Drunk people, you let them lose consciousness on any flat surface that’s easily cleaned or replaced, and the next day you make sure to shut the fuck up and you don’t hog the bathroom and you give them an endless supply of aspirin and water. Simple. Sam could write a manual to it blindfolded and strung out on vicodin. 

Confronted with a drunk angel, however, he is at a complete loss. 

Castiel needs to sleep about as much Sam needs to practice standing on his head. He doesn’t really doubt that the guy could do it if he really wanted to—human body, after all—but he’s damn sure it would be disorienting and more or less generally unpleasant. It’s been previously established. On one hand, fine. On the other hand, after Cas tells him not to ask stupid questions and that the preacher’s daughter is a whore (which is ironic enough to be hilarious, but not laughable, strictly speaking), he’s standing there awkwardly, looking down at the angel swaying drunkenly from where he’s seated on the bed. 

 _It’s only awkward if you make it awkward,_  the Dean inside his head tells him. Incidentally, the figment goes on to point out that with Castiel sitting on the bed and Sam still standing next to him, he’s kind of at the perfect height to—

 _Oh God, shut up,_  Sam tells him, and abruptly pulls up a chair amidst phantom Dean-laughter, like this is the most hilarious thing in the world, Sam sitting at this painful right angle and all but praying that Castiel doesn’t notice or enquire to the cause of the flush creeping up his face. The Dean in his head is grinning ecstatically like the real one never does anymore, and Sam hates him savagely for a minute, but it’s a passing fancy. He rubs the heels of his palms across his cheeks and sighs.

“Um,” he says, helpfully, after another minute’s gone by and he’s collected himself. “Do you want . . . water or, or something? Should help.”

“No, thank you,” Castiel replies, dour and serious as ever. “I would prefer to remain in my present condition for the time being.”

That’s. Well. Sam’s got nothing. “You’d rather be drunk?” he asks, pushing a hand through his hair. Dean’s been bitching at him to get it cut lately, and he’s beginning to grudgingly admit that his brother might have a point.

“I told you,” Castiel says, leaning conspiratorially close, although that’s probably unintentional, and looking at him intently, “not to ask stupid questions.”

“Yeah.” Sam nods a few times, for emphasis. “Sorry.”

“I am intoxicated,” Castiel informs him gravely.

Sam’s getting a headache, and the voice inside his head that belongs to his brother is laughing hysterically. It’s really not helping. “I noticed,” he says uncertainly.

“A den of iniquity occurred to me,” the angel continues, “but I did not believe I would find the experience beneficial.”

“A what occurred to you?” He’s having trouble keeping up, starting to wish that Cas would start blathering in some dead language out of nowhere so he’d have a reason to be this lost. 

Castiel leans a few inches closer, alcohol seeping off him and colouring the air. “A den. Of iniquity,” he says slowly. “Dean took me once.”

Realisation hits, and he has to bite his tongue to choke back a laugh. “Dean took you to a whorehouse?” 

“Yes,” the angel confirms.

Sam can’t resist. “So how did that go?” he asks. It hurts a little that this story was withheld by his brother, just another lovely testimony to how fucked up they are, but by this point it’s a drop in the ocean. Mostly, he’s highly amused. 

Castiel sighs. “It was . . . unnerving. There were too many wayward souls.”

“So, uh.” He should maybe drop this, but curiosity’s a persistent bitch. “Did you—” he motions grandly “—you know.” 

“ A woman took me to a room and I told her it was not her fault that her father ran off,” Castiel responds. “She screamed and ran out. Then men came after us and Dean told me that we should leave.”

This time, Sam doesn’t quite manage to hold in his laugh, and it escapes in a short burst. He can just imagine it, the hilarity and the look on Dean’s face. 

“I found it unpleasant,” Castiel adds, and sways a bit more dangerously. He blinks uncertainly and repeats, “I am intoxicated.”

Sam figures it’s worth a try. “Um, look, Cas. I know you don’t need to, but to a human, it feels better after you get some sleep.”

“I am not of the persuasion,” the angel tells him shortly, with a look that tells him quite plainly of his stupidity, in no uncertain terms. 

 _Nice move, jackass,_  the Dean in his head tells him. Sam really wishes that voice had an off-button. It doesn’t.

He rolls his eyes up at the explosions of water-stains across the ceiling and counts slowly to ten, in Latin. He’s about to say something else when he’s distracted, a hand on the back of his neck and Cas’s face suddenly close, too close, pulling him in.

And, well, Castiel’s kissing him, and if that’s not a mindfuck, he doesn’t know what is. For once, both Sam and the Dean he carries in his head are stunned into silence, and Sam is, is kissing back mostly because he wants to see where this leads. 

He hasn’t kissed anyone in awhile (string of barflies a few months after, to get the taste of demon out of his mouth, Dean stone-cold and harsh like a cliff-face when he got back, stinking of sex and booze and cheap perfume, and one time, cologne, but what could he do?), and he’s thinking about Jess and Madison and Ruby and Dean, about how anyone who matters usually dies. He wonders what would happen if Dean came back and found him like this, awkward bent angle of his body and neck, leaning towards an angel, fallen for him, for their sake. He’s thinking of that torturous year before Dean went to hell and the taste of desperation, and remembers how that felt, wonders if that’s how Cas is feeling now. 

It occurs to him, suddenly, what the vessel—Jimmy—might think of this, and for that reason he’s grateful when Castiel pulls away, and looks at him serenely, like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just have his tongue in Sam’s mouth. 

“You should perhaps locate a copy of Revelations,” the angel says. 

“What?” Sam asks dumbly. This is relevant, he knows it. His brain’s just a little out of commission right now. 

Castiel flops back on the bed and comments, “The room does not spin as much from this perspective.” He leaves Sam hanging for a moment, then adds, “Read to me what it says about the Whore of Babylon.”

Oh. Right. Duh. Sam feels like he should have better reaction time, but he’s just been blindsided, so he figures it’s fine, he can allow himself a little lenience. 

The Dean in his head is babbling incessantly as he rummages through their bags in search of the more accurate version of the Bible, but for once Sam is mostly able to block him out. 

~End.


End file.
